


welkin

by phalangine



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, are they together? why did john slap chas' ass in e06? two good questions i do not have answers to, chas is in fact jewish, extremely weak use of greek mythology as a metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-11 00:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: Wherever John goes, Chas takes a breath and follows.





	welkin

**Author's Note:**

> huge thanks to jessicamiriamdrew for being the person i cribbed an exchange from. also for holding my hand
> 
> this isn't very relevant, but if you're interested, i wrote a bunch of this to ["i didn't want to die"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9EiF1GG9vSQ) from the _in bruges_ soundtrack. carter burwell did us right

It’s dark, dusk long enough behind that the sky looks like an endless void, and they’re far from home. John thinks they’re in Kentucky, but it might be Tennessee. Maybe one of the Carolinas. He’s never gotten used to navigating the wide stretches that comprise America and doesn’t particularly care to.

Chas, the main reason John can get away with not knowing Kansas from Nebraska, is in the front seat, and despite the exhaustion tugging at John, looking at him makes John’s heart beat a little stronger.

There should be chaos between them, but more often than not, it’s just quiet. They know each other too well to be caught off-guard when Chas storms off or John leaves Chas behind. It hurts, and some part of John clenches every time he sees Chas turn away. But Chas always comes back. John always finds Chas again.

And John has found he likes the way Chas tries to put him back together.

Sitting up, John leans an arm on top of the front passenger seat. “Chas.”

Chas makes a soft sound, one that says he’s tired but listening.

It’s a new sound to John. Soft and warm and, after years of wasted wanting, just for him.

“Let’s take a break.”

“‘Let’s’?” Chas echoes. “What do you need a break from? All you’ve done is sit on your ass and get us lost. And I’m the one who has service tomorrow.”

The anger that belongs in the words is conspicuously absent, and John fights the impulse to reach over and touch Chas’ cheek. That’s one of the things that hasn’t changed- no distracting Chas when he’s at the wheel.

“For you, then,” John tries. “Come on, mate. Just a little break. Wouldn’t want you to snap at Rabbi Holtz.”

“Interesting how you care so much about my Rabbi when it comes to things other than magic,” Chas drawls. “And we’re at least half an hour from the nearest rest stop.”

“I never said we should stop at a rest stop.”

“John…” Suspicion has finally begun to set in, but for once, John’s plans are as simple as he’s made them out to be.

“There’s room to pull over here, isn’t there?”

It’s difficult to read Chas’ expression from behind. John can guess, though.

“Just for a minute,” he presses.

Chas twists his head a little, just enough that he can cut his eyes to the side and see John’s face.

The circles under Chas’ eyes are deeper than usual- one of the few lingering signs of physical stress the spell allows- and when they pass through a light, John sees the grooves around Chas’ mouth that signal unhappiness. Chas is a homebody; he likes having everyone and everything within reach. He doesn’t like leaving Zed behind with her father and his followers still looking for her. He doesn't like going further from Geraldine when he’s already too far from her. He doesn’t like being near Renee, but he doesn’t like being too far from her either.

Yet here he is.

Away from all of them.

Wherever John goes, Chas takes a breath and follows.

“One minute,” Chas says, looking away.

John nods, more to himself than Chas, and sits back in his seat as Chas shifts in his own and scans the shoulder for a good place to pull over.

What differentiates the bit of grass he picks over the rest is beyond John. It doesn’t take Chas long to pick it, though, so John lets it go without comment.

The moment the car stops, John hops out.

It feels good to stretch, better than John had thought it would, and he doesn’t fight the noise he makes when he rolls his shoulders and something shifts into place in his back.

He looks up at the sky as continues shaking off the cramped feeling in his limbs. It’s a clear night, and they’re far out enough that neither buildings nor trees obscure the view of the stars above, the darkness around them making even the distant stars sparkle.

John quickly picks out Canis Minor and lets his arms drop to his sides. He looks up at the constellation, tracing the invisible connections between the stars, and feels time start to slip away.

He’s going to be forty sooner than not.

Canis Minor won’t care; it’s been burning for more years than John likes to think about. And it won’t stop when John dies. Some other fool will take over John’s uneasy recognition of the stars and one after him, and so on and so on, generations of them living and dying under the lesser dog’s watch.

And still, the dog will continue to burn.

He hears Chas before he sees him.

The reminder that this was supposed to be a quick stretch doesn’t come. Instead, Chas silently presses their shoulders together- John’s shoulder and Chas’ bicep, really- and says, in his particular wry drawl, “This isn’t going to be a quick stop.”

He isn’t asking, but John answers anyway. “It’s not.”

Chas doesn’t sigh. It’s a remarkable show of restraint considering how tired he is.

John doesn’t acknowledge it. He’s too busy shrugging out of his coat and spreading it out on the grass.

It doesn’t cushion the ground as much as he’d hoped, but it’s better than nothing.

It almost has to be.

Chas only needs to be asked to join him once. John pats the space he left open on his coat, and Chas, after a moment of stubbornness, obligingly sits down.

“Fuck,” he grunts as he lands. “...It’s a cold March.”

John lets himself smile. “The ground wasn’t this hard when you were young, eh?”

“Shut up.”

John does, but not for lack of a reply.

He scoots down on his coat so he can lie back without dropping his head into the grass. The new position leaves his head parallel to Chas’ hip, and not for the first time, John feels his thoughts drift from Chas as he is now, solid and alive, to the future, where Chas’ soul is the last one keeping him that way.

Above them, Canis Minor shines on, unaware of the men below. Unaware of its own mortality, the coming deaths of the stars that give it shape.

Chas’ hand finds John’s, and John twines their fingers together.

“What kind of magic are you thinking about?” Chas asks.

It’s impossible to tell how serious he is.

“You know, if you’d learn just a little bit about magic-”

“Name one mitzvah.”

John clears his throat. “I was thinking about the constellations.”

Chas snorts. “Any in particular?”

“That one,” John says, pointing to the sky. He feels Chas shift to follow John’s finger. “Sorry sod won’t ever catch what it’s chasing.”

“Which one is it?”

“Canis Minor.”

John doesn’t elaborate. It’s childish, but he does enjoy the sound of Chas sighing before he says, “I’m a little behind on my astrology, John.”

“It’s more like Greek mythology, but I’m betting you never got into that.” The silence he gets is reply enough. (“I’m Jewish, John,” Chas said once when they were younger and John was having trouble understanding why Chas was so behind on the usual myths and legends. “Do I not know enough history as it is?”) “Canis Major was originally a fox,” John explains, “one that was impossible to catch. Canis Minor was a dog determined to catch it. According to legend, Zeus turned them into the constellations as we know them, thereby preserving the chase. And by doing so, he ensured the dog would have to chase the fox for eternity, both of them denied the chance to stop or die. It’s a paradox, you see? The fox can’t be caught, and dog can’t be outrun. They’re caught in loop neither of them wanted.”

Of all the benefits of being loved by the person who’s known him longest, one of the kindest is that John doesn’t have to explain himself to Chas. He can tell Chas this and only this, and it’s enough. Chas will understand.

The ordeal of baring his soul is saved for another day.

A breeze picks up, gusting hard enough to dart between the buttons down John’s shirt.

He shivers at the chill clawing at him, but there’s something here, something between John and the lesser dog that demands to be seen. He can’t leave yet.

Chas extricates his hand, but he moves too too fast for John to complain, his hand slipping away but not to lie idle on Chas’ lap. Chas’ jacket settles over John’s chest, still warm from Chas, and John doesn’t waste time before slipping his arms through the sleeves.

Another benefit of Chas’ affection- he’s always cold, so he wears layers and layers. And John, by virtue of being smaller and prone to getting hurt, has a claim on them.

Wrapped up and warmed, he reaches out and fumbles at Chas until he finds Chas’ hand and closes his own around it.

Above them, the dog continues its chase.

The wind whistles, but they stay as they are.

Maybe Chas feels what John feels. Maybe he doesn’t. He lets John lead regardless.

A deadlier flaw than hubris, that.

The silence stretches, the wind streams around them, and eventually, John gets restless. Whatever else there is between the dog and him, it’s not coming to the surface.

He sits up, intending to get up, but when he starts, the hand holding Chas’ holds him back.

Confused, John twists around.

Chas isn’t looking at him. His eyes are on the sky, a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Chas?”

“You can’t save the dog.”

“It’s just a story,” John says, wincing.

“You can’t save the dog,” Chas repeats. “Or the fox. But you could kill Zeus.”

John blinks.

Chas frowns harder at sky.

John blinks again.

“Pardon?”

“It would be difficult, but-”

“Are you seriously suggesting I assassinate a Greek god? Over a story?”

“You could try to rewrite the story, but we all know reboots are bad.” The humor that had started to color Chas’ voice disappears. “If the dog can’t free himself and Zeus won’t let it go, then someone else should do it.”

John swallows. “You aren’t talking about the constellation.”

“Were you?”

“I did tell you the story behind it, so yes, I believe I was.”

Chas sighs. “Next time Renee says I don’t talk about my feelings, I’ll be able to say I’m not the only one.”

And that’s it. John doesn’t have anything worth saying in reply. All he can think is that yes, Chas would see it like that. It’s unjust to leave the dog to suffer. It goes against the values Chas was supposed to inherit, values he’s trying to instill in his daughter.

Chas slowly gets to his feet, gently tugging John up behind him. John grabs his coat and folds it over his arm. They get back into the car.

John sprawls across the back seat, still wearing Chas’ jacket.

Chas turns the engine on, and they get back on the road.

They don't say anything until they’ve passed at least three rest stops.

“You’d really kill Zeus for me?” John asks quietly.

Chas doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

John clenches his jaw. Revelations like this are supposed to be big. They’re supposed to hurt. They’re supposed to come too late.

They aren’t supposed to be said the same way Chas says he bought milk.

The benefits of being loved by Chas go on and on. Loving him isn’t always easy, but it’s always right.

John doesn’t know what the benefits of being loved by him are. Loving him isn’t easy. Yet Chas, who’s loved other people, hasn’t stopped. What good comes to him from loving John?

Not having to worry about saving for retirement, maybe.

Swallowing, John says, “You’d need a bloody big sword to do that.”

“Guess you better start looking.”

“It couldn’t be metal.”

“I could wear rubber gloves.”

“Chas-”

“You’re an asshole,” Chas interrupts. “You do stupid shit, and you hurt people, and I don’t know why. But you aren’t evil. You shouldn’t have to suffer forever.” He glances in the rearview mirror and catches John’s eyes. “So yeah, John. If it would put an end to this, I’d kill Zeus.”

A joke materializes on John’s tongue; he bites it before it can escape.

The taxi lights up then dims then lights up again as they pass streetlights.

Coughing, Chas shifts in his seat. “Zed, uh. She’s been on me about talking. About things.”

John snorts. “Sounds like her type of meddling.”

Chas nods, and from his vantage point in the back seat, John can see the start of a curl to Chas’ mouth. The conversation is over now, and they can both relax.

The silence should be comfortable.

Instead, John feels the weight of Chas’ simple logic- if the dog can’t get free, kill the one keeping it prisoner- pressing down on him.

Chas’ words, like the dog, demand acknowledgement.

“It wouldn’t be easy, you know,” John says slowly. “Killing Zeus.”

“Worth it, though.”

Swallowing hard, John closes his eyes. “The Aegean is full of relics, you know. Ancient weapons, the sorts of things forgotten gods blessed and left to stupid men who lost them. I’ve even heard there’s a sword in Turkey that burns with a flame nothing can douse. Not even a god.”

“That sounds handy.”

Eyes still shut, John nods. “I know a bloke in Ankara who could find it.”

There isn’t much of anything Ekrem can’t find. He charges a price- he has to make a living, as he’s reminded John in the past- but he’s always been flexible about the currency with John.

Delightful as the nights with Ekrem were, John doesn’t have any of that currency anymore. And he and Chas don’t have much actual money anymore.

Something touches John’s leg, and his eyes fly open.

It’s only Chas, though. His hand is warm where he has it curled around John’s knee.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. He’s said enough already.

John lays his hand over Chas’ and squeezes. He hasn’t said much of anything. It’s always been uneven between them, probably always be. But Chas allows it- he’s the one turning his hand over so he can weave his fingers through John’s, press their hands together palm to palm.

John lets his head loll against the window and lets himself drift off to the thought of Chas standing before Zeus, a man with nothing but a sword of flame facing down a god he doesn’t recognize. If the blade burned half as hot as the hand on John’s knee, Chas could melt the whole of Olympus.

And he’d do it for John.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://runrivernorths.tumblr.com) if you like!


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